Eric fucking hated golf. But booze were booze and bros were bros. So night golf it was.
“Why at night though? Golf already sucks. Now you want to play in the dark?” Eric said.
Devon turned toward his garage door and strapped on his bag. “I don’t feel like paying the green fees—and even less so for all their shitty beer.”
Eric stared at his cellphone, waiting for the screen to load.
“Service here sucks,” he said.
The course was listed in the Google search as Closed. Eric wondered what would cause a perfectly good course to be closed during the day.
“Who needs it,” Devon replied. Admiring his reflection on the back of his three-iron. “Let’s just go, bro!”
“Listen, I’m not bringing my clubs,” Eric said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll just use your seven the whole way.”
“Suit yourself, scrub. We’ll meet up with Drew when we’re down there.”
#
Devon’s car crept over the gravel parking lot. It was a silent night only the crunching noises of the wheels on dirt and the chorus of crickets echoed over the moonlit fairway.
Andrew leaned against his sedan with his driver cocked over his shoulder. Devon exited the car first, lifting his chin toward Andrew.
“What up!” Devon shouted.
The three men parlayed at the center of the parking lot. Devon lit a cigarette and turned to Andrew as he let out the first puff of smoke.
“You got the other balls?” he asked.
Andrew shuffled his hand in his pocket, extracting two identical glow-in-the-dark balls, each shining with a faint green hue.
“Only two, boss.”
“Eh, that’ll do I guess,” Devon said, motioning for the others to follow.
As they passed by the clubhouse, Eric noticed a strand of yellow tape, broken and stretched at its end, dangling from the stairwell banister. Eric rushed forward to catch up with Devon. He placed his hand on his shoulder and pointed back toward the parking lot.
“Dev, did you see that?” Eric whispered.
“See what, bro?”
“The police tape!”
Eric turned and pointed at the knoll where they had entered. “Something happened here, Dev. I’m telling you. We’re going to get caught or som—”
“Shhh!”
Devon stuck out his hand with the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. With his other hand, he reached into his bag and pulled out a beer can, handing it to Eric.
“Chill, dude. Drink. I’ll even let you tee off first.”
Eric puffed out his cheeks and yanked out the seven iron from Devon’s bag. Andrew flipped him one of the glow balls and smiled.
“Eric, is this your first-time night golfing?”
Eric nodded as he squared up next to the ball. Devon and Andrew both chuckled, distracting Eric from his swing. He swung down and sliced the ball clean to the right, bouncing into the foot of the woods.
“Oh, you’ll have to go hunting for that one!” Devon shouted.
“But you’ll have to watch out for…” Andrew snickered, “The Wedger!”
“The Wedger?” Eric replied, “Really? Is that the best you could come up with?”
Devon threw his cigarette into the ball scrubber and paced with his hands behind his back. “Let me tell you, Eric. The Wedger ain’t no joke. You’ll hear the whooshing sounds first that’s the maniac swinging his wedge through the brush like a machete!”
Andrew stepped forward and continued, “And then you’ll feel a drizzle of forgotten balls rain down from the branches. They say he tosses them into the air right before he slices your neck with the sharpened blade of his pitching wedge!”
Eric shook his head and made his way to the edge of the wooded area, squinting through the trunks and branches. With the voices of his companions now fading in the distance, Eric listened to a whistling noise that emanated from deep within the woods. A shiver ran up his spine. He turned around and retreated to his friends.
Devon stood laughing with Andrew giggling behind him.
“Where’s the ball, Eric?” Devon asked.
“What’d you get scared?” Andrew added.
As Andrew finished his sleight, Eric watched his friend’s eyes open wider than he thought possible. A piece of metal cut clean through Andrew’s neck. The sharpened end of the club’s blade swung upward, splattering a dotted line of blood at Eric’s feet. Red ravines trickled down from Andrew’s eyelids, then his neck his head slid off his shoulders like a raindrop from a gutter.
His body collapsed, leaving Devon and Eric staring in shock at the gory mess. In Andrew’s place stood a panting figure, wrapped in what appeared to be a patchwork of golf bags sewn together.
Their momentary stupor was broken by a sudden bombardment of golf balls from the sky. The figure raised his golf club and swung it at Devon. Devon ducked and stumbled off the tee, breaking into a sprint toward the clubhouse. The man chased after him.
Devon leaped into the driving range’s pavilion. Eric ran to the side of the pavilion and heard the sounds of a machine operating from under the structure’s roof.
Eric stepped back, feeling nauseous at the sight before him. Devon’s feet flailed about as he was stuffed face-first into the ball dispenser—his blood spurting out in waves, followed by blood-covered balls bouncing atop the concrete. Having completed his second murder, the killer turned to Eric.
Eric ran for the parking lot. He could see headlights at the lot’s entrance. He did not look back.
Three pairs of headlights now shined through the tree trunks flanking the lot. Eric collapsed next to Devon’s car, eventually being hoisted up by two men. Eric swayed in and out of consciousness he could hear the officers shouting at each other.
"Dispatch, we got a ten-forty-five at the Greens. We’ll need an ambo and backup immediately! Crime lab too!”
“Lieutenant! What are we doing with the kid?”
Before the officer could reply, hundreds of golf balls ricocheted off the parking lot, as if emptied out from overhead. They smashed into the cars’ glass and buffeted the officers supporting Eric.
A ball clunked Eric on his temple, followed by another against his ear. He fell to the gravel. His cheek pressed against the ground as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
Eric watched two feet square up before him.
“Fore!” it growled.
END
